


closed doors

by TheGlovedArtist



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Baking, Familial Relationship Study, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Strained Family Relations, that's it lol, they are hurt and they want company
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-14 06:22:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29787771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGlovedArtist/pseuds/TheGlovedArtist
Summary: “You never answered my question.”“I’ve seen Mom use our oven to cook pasta once, so yes, I am one-hundred percent sure I know how to use it,” Kiyoomi answers confidently in a matter-of-fact tone. He leaves no room for doubt as he starts removing pans and trays from inside the kitchenware.His smile starts to slip from his lips. “…the other one.”Kiyoomi stills for a second before resuming his task. His movements turn rigid, and he doesn’t look up to meet Motoya’s eyes. “...oh.”Komori Motoya does not know love beyond the suffocation of his mind, but he is willing to learn anyway.
Relationships: Komori Motoya & Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 5
Kudos: 17
Collections: Haikyuu Writer Jukebox Round One - Mitski





	closed doors

**Author's Note:**

> hello! the fic title is adapted from mitski's "door", which also inspired this fic. i hope you enjoy~!

The first time Motoya feels love is when he bakes a cake with his cousin.

Flour and cocoa powder covers the countertops and sugar is spilt on the floor. His parents are nowhere in sight, leaving the two seven-year-olds to their own devices. Motoya’s diligently mixing the batter as Kiyoomi looks for a broom.

“Do you know how to use an oven?” He asks as his arms grow tired. The grip on the bowl slowly loosens, his palms aching. “I think I’m almost done.”

Kiyoomi peers over the bowl and scowls. “No, you’re not. I can still see lumps.”

“Maybe they’re chocolate chunks.”

“Maybe you’ll choke on them and die.”

Motoya laughs and continues to stir. “As if choking can kill me.”

His cousin starts cleaning up the kitchen, refusing to dignify his response. A warmth settles inside Motoya. He jokes around and makes plans. Kiyoomi smooshes the jokes into nothing and carries out the plan. It works for them, even though it usually ends with fistfights and tears. It’s violent. It’s familiar. It’s…nice.

“You never answered my question.”

“I’ve seen Mom use our oven to cook pasta once, so yes, I am one-hundred percent sure I know how to use it,” Kiyoomi answers confidently in a matter-of-fact tone. He leaves no room for doubt as he starts removing pans and trays from inside the kitchenware.

His smile starts to slip from his lips. “…the other one.”

Kiyoomi stills for a second before resuming his task. His movements turn rigid, and he doesn’t look up to meet Motoya’s eyes. “...oh.”

Tension sits in the room as they work. A lingering sense of unease walks in and flirts with the atmosphere. Now that Motoya has brought up the inevitable, there is no escape from confrontation.

Despite that, the silence grows until it becomes suffocating. Motoya mixes the batter. Kiyoomi preps the oven. And they do not say a word.

“I am,” Kiyoomi says quietly. “Lonely, I guess.”

Motoya nods. He grips the bowl a little tighter. “I wish you could stay here forever.”

“And make me deal with your constantly messy room? No thanks,” Kiyoomi snipes, but the tone slips into something softer than chastising. He inspects the oven’s interior, for reasons Motoya can’t fathom. “Though I _would_ enjoy your puzzles more than you. You barely touch them.”

“That’s cause they’re boring. I already know what the picture’s gonna look like, so why bother putting it together when I could, oh I don’t know, do something else like paint? Read a book? Maybe both at the same time?”

“You’ll ruin the book.”

“Your _Mom’s_ gonna ruin the book.”

They glare at each other before melting into peals of laughter. Kiyoomi closes the oven, sets the temperature, then moves to butter the cake tins. Motoya contemplates adding chocolate chips.

“I want to stay,” Kiyoomi admits. His eyes remain trained on the tin, both focused and determined. Motoya glances at him for a second before finishing up the mixing. “I don’t want to go home.”

“Mom says you can come here anytime.” He ignores the itch to remember. “She says you’re always welcome.”

“I’m not allowed.” There is no room for argument. “She’s my aunt, not my mom. You’re my cousin, not my brother. It doesn’t work like that. It’ll never work like that.”

Without another word, Kiyoomi makes his way to the sink and washes the butter away. “The tin’s ready, start pouring the batter.”

Together, they pour each drop until the bowl is empty and can offer nothing more. Kiyoomi slides the tin inside the oven, closes the door, and sets a time for 30 minutes.

“Time to clean up,” Kiyoomi states. Motoya stares at him but says nothing more.

The kitchen isn’t messy. With the occasional spill here and there, it takes little time to wipe down the countertops and put all the ingredients away. Komori stands by Kiyoomi as he washes the bowls, the drying towel ready at hand.

Motoya briefly considers building a time machine so they wouldn’t have to grow old and lose moments like this, where there was nothing more important the dishes piled up in his sink and the wafting scent of baking cake. He considers trapping Kiyoomi in his home and letting him grow in the comforts of a house full of fun and mischief and wonder. He considers running away.

“Let’s run away.”

Unsurprisingly, Kiyoomi looks at him with disdain. “We don’t have a car.”

“We can take the bus.”

“And where would we stay?”

Motoya concentrates hard. “Under a bridge,” he says with conviction. “We can become bridge trolls.”

“I don’t want to be a bridge troll,” Kiyoomi says, but his eyes betray his contemplative thoughts.

“And I don’t want you to leave!”

Motoya’s eyes widen at his own admission, but it’s too late to take back his words.

Kiyoomi almost looks sad. “Motoya-”

“No, forget it. It’s fine.” He takes the freshly washed bowl from him and wipes it dry. “Don’t worry about it.”

He fumes silently to himself. Although it had been a long shot, a part of him wishes that Kiyoomi agreed, just to make the daydream last a little longer.

“Let’s do it.”

Motoya laughs. “You don’t have to humour me-”

“I’m serious.” Kiyoomi nudges his shoulder softly. “When we’re older, let’s leave this place. Go somewhere far away where no one can bother us.”

Hope makes itself comfortable among the two. It’s quiet and almost imperceptible, but it breathes, and it smiles and it’s enough.

Motoya holds in the urge to hug him. “I love you,” he says with heart-bursting. The words aren’t enough to convey what he feels, but they get the message across. His cousin offers a tentative upturn of the lips. It’s barely a smile, but he doesn’t need one to know what he means.

“I love you too.”

Together, the two work quietly and remember what happiness is supposed to feel like.

**Author's Note:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/curious_shipper) || [cc](https://t.co/jJ5BShvN5l?amp=1)
> 
> i hope you liked this! comments and kudos are always appreciated ♥


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